A zillion image of me rest in so many minds
I dare not swim into them

I have my own ocean to swim in
That connects me to the sea bed of my heart
The seat of my soul

For now this is my only intention
For now this is my only attention
For now this is the purpose I breath into life
----------------

They watch you silently
Then judge you loudly

It’s laughable

They have so much to say about you
But nothing to say to you

It’s delirious

They have so much to say about you
But no relationship with you

It’s ironic

They have so much to say about you
outside the relationship
but not in the relationship

Its epiphanies

They have so much to say about you
But never held a conversation with you

It’s bizarre ~ hold on!
It’s their instincts? Ooh wait their six senses?

They have a problem with you
But don’t even hold your number

It’s comical
Wait! How did that possibly happen?

Creating stories in their minds of you
Confirming the stories into other minds
Spreading their impressions among a few

Then stories solidify into truth
in the eyes of a few
Now open to all as a matter of truth
Now all is open to accept as face value

Little do they know
I’m flattered by all their attention
Care little of all their perceptions
Unimpressed by all their expressions of me

Idle it all is to my essence

Meanwhile,
I'm glad to be a subject of entertainment
To fill the empty spaces of boredom in their life

I said it before but I’ll say it again
What you speak of others in their absence
Says more about the speaker than the subject

Thank you for being here
NwK

I feel exposed,
A bear without its coat,
I feel vulnerable,
A cactus without its spikes,
I feel scared,
A mouse running from the cat.
How much more of my life will be stolen?
How much more do they need to know?

My Grandmère and I have long, gossipy conversations,
where we fall into our own chatty, slumber party rhythms.

She’s met or knows everyone important, and people tell her things.

They DM her or whisper secrets of lives ordered but loveless,
of careers choked by excesses and indiscretions.

She gets stealthy, leaked business reports of purported fortunes gambled and lost or of innocence wasted in bittersweet embrace - delicious, tangled narratives that expose the gaps between facades and realities that can’t be purchased.

Sometimes we pop popcorn on our private ends of the Atlantic,
watch Netflix, share secrets and laugh conspiratorially.
.
.
Songs for this:
Us by Regina Spektor
Young And Dumb by The Bird and the Bee

The kind of person
no-one wants to know
She wears her sincerest smile
ignores their whispers,
and head raised,
looks them in the eye
every
single
*******
day.
It’s the only thing
to do
(apart from finally
ending it)
But mountains
were easier to climb,
and amidst the
coloured powder crush
underfoot
of her former soul
There’s really not
much left
in the tank